


Through the Veil

by NekoTora243



Category: Ratchet & Clank
Genre: A Crack In Time might not happen?, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Ratchet (Ratchet & Clank), Dubious Science, I am not a mechanic by any means, I refuse to give him one, It's not Clank that goes missing, Lombax Race, Lombax children, Lombaxes, Lots of... Universe Building?, More Planets!, Original Character(s), Post-Tools of Destruction, Ratchet doesn't have a family name, Ratchet's sense of humor, Tags May Change, Weapons of Mass Destruction, hardcore improvisation, may make things up, no beta we die like men, trying to make sense of technology, will try not to make too many
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:34:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26687503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoTora243/pseuds/NekoTora243
Summary: “Please! We need a hero…!”Those chilling words are what break Ratchet’s focus away from the Zoni attempting to take away Clank, tugging him through the confines of space and time like a gerbil through a garden hose. The voice grows louder, more fearful as the suffocating feeling increases, puts pressure on his body, until he finds himself freefalling several hundred meters in the air over an arid, desert world. He blacks out, and upon waking he’s confronted with a sight that has him doubting his sanity.He’s surrounded by children, their wide eyes staring at him with wary fear and hope. That’s not what shocks him.It’s the fact that they’re Lombaxes.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13





	1. We're Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After defeating Tachyon and resting for a few days to recover, Ratchet, Clank, and friends are confronted with the Zoni attempting to take Clank. Ratchet, refusing to let them take his pal away jumps to interfere and stops them, instead taking Clank's place before dropping through a tear in the wormhole.
> 
> _“Please! We need a hero…!”_
> 
> Those chilling words are what break Ratchet’s focus away from the Zoni, tugging him through the confines of space and time like a gerbil through a garden hose. The voice grows louder, more fearful as the suffocating feeling increases, puts pressure on his body, until he finds himself freefalling several hundred meters in the air over an arid, desert world. He blacks out, and upon waking he’s confronted with a sight that has him doubting his sanity.
> 
> He’s surrounded by children, their wide eyes staring at him with wary fear and hope. That’s not what shocks him.
> 
> It’s the fact that they’re Lombaxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge Ratchet & Clank fan finally deciding to write a story where one question niggles at the back of my mind. Other than the newest installment of the franchise, _Rift Apart_ , for the PS5, there hasn't been too much information on Lombaxes except for what Talwyn and Alister told Ratchet and that bugs me. I'mma try and fix it.
> 
> So sit tight and relax, this might be a blast(er) running hot!

“You filthy rat!”

Air rushes out of his lungs when his back smashes against the rocks, rattling the cracked bones of his ribcage that cry from the pain alone.

Clank calls out in alarm as he scrambles away from the flurry of heat-seeking mini-rockets that soon impact the area he was sitting on just a second ago, obliterating the boulder and sending him flying. Another explosion sends him to the rough, rocky surface of the asteroid and he yelps when one of his ribs gives out. That break’s going to hinder his ability to defeat Tachyon if it endures more abuse.

That’s just dandy. That break’s going to hinder his ability to defeat Tachyon if it endures more abuse.

Half of the damage (if he remembers right) was from one solid hit a large Cragmite dealt to him back on Reepor a few days before and he hasn’t given himself time to recover. Now he regrets rushing, but he really wasn’t given a choice or even time to rest. Tachyon is on the verge of summoning the Cragmites back, and being the olny one capable of stopping the guy he isn’t going to give him the benefit of doing so. Failure can lead to the purging of the galaxy’s other alien races and the galaxy under absolute Cragmite rule.

The thought of that is too painful to bear.

Snarling, he pulls out his Mag-Net Launcher and aims at Tachyon’s walking throne, locking on one leg and launching the electric net when Tachyon’s attention lapses, ensnaring one leg and short-circuiting it. The leg collapses under the throne’s weight and Tachyon cries out at the suddenness of the thing teetering. He takes one look and snaps to glare venomously at Ratchet, angrily screaming.

“You impudent cretin! I’ll have your head for that!”

“What’s the worst option? My head or my butt,” Ratchet hollers with an impish grin as he skates by bullets and rockets, Clank sighing in exasperation.

Tachyon growls as he ups the amount of rockets being shot at the slippery Lombax. Clank merely sighs when the world around him blurs as his partner flips and dodges the rockets. He wonders if he should install an upgrade that speeds his processors enough to view the world in slow motion similar to action sequences in holo-vid crime dramas.

“Must you antagonize the enemy, Ratchet?”

Ratchet shrugs. “Hey, it was an honest question."

“Regardless, we are in the middle of a battle. Please concentrate.”

Ratchet rolls his eyes and dodges a swipe from the legged throne, jumping up close to Tachyon’s face to bare his fangs. The Cragmite recoils and it gives Ratchet enough time to swing his Omniwrench and turn another leg to scrap metal.

Ratchet flings Clank over to the Dimensionator and the bot stands next to it protectively, watching the battle as rockets and wrench swings meet the surface of the asteroid, the grunts and raging shrieks adding to the cacophony of colliding asteroids and portals fizzing and exploding in the distance. Tachyon rages when Ratchet’s wrench clips his arm, leaving a gash behind. He hits Ratchet with one of the working legs to send him back, the force rocketing him into another boulder.

Clank runs up to Ratchet after the Lombax sits up, ears flat in irritation. Ratchet groans and fires the Mag-Net Launcher, paying no heed to the Cragmite’s cries to snatch Clank’s arm and fling him up so that his metal torso attaches itself to Ratchet’s magnetic strap. Seeing the rockets revving for release he uses the Heli-Pack to dodge when another barrage surprises them from the other side. Clank aborts the glide and they fall, the rockets hitting each other and exploding so fiercely the force knocks over the duo and sends them tumbling across the asteroid.

Tachyon laughs uproariously at them, his disgust turning to sick glee when he spots the growing patch of red blooming through the Lombax’s armor. Ratchet groans and stands with some difficulty, brandishing his Omniwrench at Tachyon, his face scrunching in distaste when he spots his enemy’s expression.

“Pretty sick of you to look like that, Cragmite.”

Tachyon hisses.

“Do not _speak_ of my race as if they’re the fungus between your filthy toes, _Lombax_. I have the right to feel what I feel for you—you _and_ your despicable race are nothing but liars and vermin that should be exterminated. Denying me my birthright and then pretending to feel sympathy for my circumstance. Pathetic. _Disgusting_.”

Ratchet growls when another round of rockets soon flies towards them and Ratchet runs, spinning on his heels to jump over the rockets and wincing at the impact that hurts his sensitive ears, a faint ringing in the background as the last rocket explodes. Tachyon fury builds like a simmering volcano the longer the Lombax evades his weaponry, hissing and spitting at the vermin’s smug grins and teasing jabs. He roars and commands forward his throne as Ratchet holds his wrench up.

“Once I kill you, I shall rid this universe of every single trace pertaining to the existence of the Lombaxes. And then I will take what is _mine_ ; the position of Polaris’ true ruler—an Emperor that does not tolerate any other species in the galaxy. After I do that, I will find the Lombaxes in their pitiful dimension and _kill them all myself_.”

A leg from the throne moves forward to hit Ratchet but he swings up and parries it with his wrench.

He gives a scathing look to Tachyon before he growls and slices the leg, internal wiring sparking and metal folding from the sheer strength of his wrench.

“I don’t think so.”

He dives to the side and launches his wrench, watching in satisfaction as the last leg crumples like wet tissue and grins when the throne collapses in an almost comical fashion on its side, tossing Tachyon off it and forcing him to land on his rear. Tachyon blinks in astonishment before fury overrides it, swearing worse than an Agorian under the influence of alcohol and Ratchet has heard of the nasty things they spew beneath their breath when their minds are clouded by the drink, though some are funny bits and pieces from when they were children. The humor promptly wipes away when he sees the throne twitch, the rockets warming up and deploying form their barrels. Ratchet quickly summons his RYNO and uses the last bit of ammo he possesses in the chamber to stop them before they detonate. One stray bullet pierces the air and tears Tachyon’s throne apart while the Cragmite himself is thrown back. Before he knows it Ratchet finds himself standing over Tachyon, Omniwrench wedged around the Cragmite’s neck and trapping him to the ground.

“You lose, Tachyon.”

Tachyon breathes harshly as his beady eyes glare maliciously at Ratchet who looks back calmly, if a bit out of breath.

The throne explodes into a plume of smoke and shrapnel. The force of the explosion rockets them forward and away from each other, Ratchet grunting when he sits up from his fall to lock eyes with Tachyon, the Cragmite having landed close to the edge of the asteroid while the Lombax finds himself further away from it. The Dimensionator lies near Tachyon, but the Cragmite dismisses it in favor of scorning the Lombax.

“I have not lost yet and you can’t kill me, Lombax. We both know you don’t have the _guts_ to execute your enemy.”

Ratchet gives him a glare of his own.

“Zordoom’s offering room and board. I’m sure they’d take good care of you there,” he shrugs. Clank gives him a reproachful glance for the comment.

“Laugh all you want—I know what your purpose is in this galaxy. I know your true name,” he grins as Ratchet stands straighter at those words. “I know more than you could ever fathom, but I have only one thing to say to you.”

Ratchet watches with nervous flutter as Tachyon gives him a sickeningly gleeful smile.

Then hell breaks loose. Tachyon screams when a section of the rock crumbles and breaks, his tiny arms grasping the rough surface in panic. He looks down to see a void of nothingness, a ring of scattering energy similar to electricity marks the boundary of the wormhole eating the remains of the rock he was standing on. A surge of energy rockets the asteroid and his hold on it slips. With a roar, he shouts his last words to the Lombax he so wishes he can crush.

“The Cragmite are inevitable! Your days will end with worlds burning to ash and gas! I will tear you limb from limb and track down the rest of your filthy brethren and do the same to them! Mark my words…!” His words fade along with his figure as the vortex devours him whole.

Both parties gasp as the Cragmite vanishes, never to return. The battle is won. The Lombaxes once again reign the victor and the Cragmites taste defeat.

Tachyon’s furious screams reverberate in his ears, echoes of vicious insults and false threats spew from the Cragmite’s uneven maw as his eyes—wide and hazing over with bloodlust and vengeance—digs holes in Ratchet’s head. The last thing Tachyon witnesses before his doom is of the young Lombax, his furrowed green eyes that watch him fall with pity, before the ravenous vortex of dark energy and matter consumes him, colors he can’t even describe flare and spin at speeds he isn’t capable of processing and screams as he’s soon ripped away by a portal that bends light outwards.

Ratchet shivers and scurries further away from the ledge, the rocky cluster that supports the weight of both him and Clank—with the addition of the destroyed walking throne that belonged to Tachyon—begins to shudder. His eyes flit across the asteroid to the expanding cracks splitting rock and spreading like webs collapsing and he deduces that the asteroid is growing frail after the damage of missiles and overhead wrench strikes chipping away at its stability.

The Dimensionator lies on the floor, scratched and covered in dust. Ratchet slides next to it and opens the device with haste. He immediately spots the broken coils within and lets out a growl of frustration mixing with the fear that bristles his fur on end. The device is defective and he doesn't have his tool pouch that carries the extra bolts and screws in cases where Ratchet finds himself fixing something. That got lost on the way through the wormhole that Tachyon dragged them through so he’s empty handed and scrambling for ideas as to how to fix it. 

“It’s damaged!”

Clank saddles up next to him, a finger scrubbing at his chin as Ratchet looks through his Manifester for anything useful.

“What is the matter,” he asks, optics glowing with concern zero in on his torso, the bleeding no longer spreading. Ratchet doesn't need to know that a bone no doubt pierced through the skin during the fight. He can feel the warmth of his blood as it sticks to his fur and stains the fabric beneath his armor. It’s familiar and the pain is dull, so he puts it at the bottom of his priority list since he has more pressing issues to address; mainly the fact that this dimension seems to be collapsing on them and is steadily destabilizing.

Silence is their symphony save for the asteroids that crumble in the distance. Ratchet grits his fangs together, his tail lashing with the frustration that increases the longer he stares at the broken device.

Ratchet growls. They come to a dilemma close to being fried, as friggin’ usual.

The Lombax inspects the frayed end of the coil, holding the ends between two gloved fingers, torn and exposed with occasional sparks shooting off them.

“The primary reflux coil snapped. I don’t have anything on me I can use to fix it!” He groans, eyes glued on the Dimensionator. His ears catch the thundering of rock being ground to dust and he looks up to see part of theirs disappear. The asteroid is breaking up fast.

Clank hums. He dodges a stray rock fragment and rifles through his storage compartment. Ratchet lets out a sigh (that could also pass as a growl) and leans his head inside the Dimensionator to inspect the rest of the inside. He mutters a curse when the fur at the bottom of his left ear gets snagged in one of the metal folding beams and if it weren’t for the dire situation they find themselves stranded in the small bot would have found it rather comical.

He remembers, then, when the Plumber, vague and seemingly all-knowing—almost clairvoyant—handed him a 3 ¾ Centicubit Hexagonal Washer when he was separated from Ratchet. He pulls the washer out of the compartment and hands it to Ratchet, who eyes the thing with a look of incredulity.

“Perhaps this should do the trick.”

Ratchet shuffles closer and for a moment dubiously stares at it, as if it were some Millenium Eye being handed to him as a party favor at a shady Gadgetron rip-off party somewhere in Solana.

With a smile, the Lombax gratefully takes it and hastily installs it, using a pocket knife he procures from his boot to cut off the torn ends to fix the cords, add the washer and connects it to the main circuit frame that initiates the activation sequence for opening portals. Once they connect, the familiar hum of energy returns and Ratchet takes his head out of the device, closes the compartment and activates it, grabbing onto Clank with a tight grip as he pulls the cord.

“Dimensionator—find home!”

With a strong pull of the line the Dimensionator activates with a crackle of energy and suddenly Ratchet blacks out, Clank’s frantic call of his name echoes loudly in the distance as his body feels as if he’s being strung elsewhere, his skin on fire and nerves shot beyond what he ever imagines possibly feeling.

The shrill, animalistic scream that rings in his ears as the asteroids vanish in a sea of psychedelic colors is accompanied by the call of “Ratchet!”

\------

The Court of Azimuth sits eerily quiet, the dark of night encroaching upon the only occupants standing closely together like lambs on high alert. Talwyn, Cronk and Zephyr fidget among themselves and attempt to break the awkward silence with small talk, all of which Cronk lists the various ways Ratchet and Clank could have met their demise as they sit there wondering about the outcome of the battle against Tachyon.

Zephyr is content making his paper mache cranes and putting them on the dash of their starship, colors that range from reds and yellows to blues and greens fill the once bare cockpit where usually memos only occupied once. Cronk protests, claiming that origami is a boring activity reserved for individuals like Captain Quark (“The oaf really should retire and spare the galaxy from his foolish shenanigans!”) and a mess that he is likely to clean after they leave Fastoon with the rest of their comrades in tow.

If anyone asked, Cronk prefers having plain memos rather than the clutter.

“D’you reckon they’ll come back,” Cronk asks after thirty minutes of tension-filled silence once small talk was deemed a terrible substitute, glaring as yet another paper crane settles near his arm on the dash.

Zephyr seems oblivious to his ire.

Talwyn sighs for the nth time and combs a hand through her hair, a look of disgust painting her features when she feels the oily stands unstick between her dry fingers. “We’ll find out when the battle’s over, Cronk. I doubt Tachyon will beat them so easily. This is _Ratchet and Clank_ we're talking about.”

“Nobody is invincible, Ms. Apogee!” Cronk calls out.

Zephyr gives a tinny snort at the thought. “That would be impossible given their exploits ‘cross Solana and Bogon. Both o' them galaxies are under their protection from what I heard—took care of a couple o’ big time crooks named Nefarious and Chairman Drek, too.”

Cronk watches Zephyr, face twisting in a grimace as his friend finishes a paper cat and joins it with the other paper abominations littering their starship. A paper cat that’s unsightly with the bright, urine-yellow colored paper and brown polka dots. If Zephyr possesses any shred of common sense it’s tossed to the wind when it comes to paper mache projects. If Talwyn is honest, she rather dislikes the amalgamation of colored paper animals, too.

Then Talwyn blinks in surprise and directs her attention to Zephyr.

“Wait, wait, wait—did you say Ratchet and Clank got rid of Drek _and_ Nefarious?? I thought they were local Polaris vigilantes.” And indeed, that’s what she’d been thinking. Their reputation in Polaris is that of extremely skilled vigilantes/ragtag hero group throwing their weight around and getting things even galactic authorities have trouble getting resolved in a clean, timely manner, to the point where he'd been included on the Polaris Defense Force as a General and Clank a Tech Specialist. Then she remembers she traveled to Fastoon to wait for Ratchet and Clank, and the singing praises and exclamations of relief coming through the dozens of radio channels—that range from local gang channels to the authorities’ broadband comms—the people broadcasted about the great galactic hero Ratchet and his partner robot Clank saving the galaxy’s people, sightings of their ship traveling to meet her to confront the tyrant emperor came through with reverence and deep respect few individuals hope to garner.

“I heard they were praised quite a bit by the radio channels in more than one sector,” she says as she approaches the starship, holding the urge to swipe at the collection of paper animals. The same cat figure Cronk was eyeing catches her own and she fights not to pull a face at it.

Zephyr pauses and sheepishly rubs his antenna. 

“Well, the Chairman was blasted inta smithereens! On ‘is own darn planet made from parts ‘e stole from other planets—threatened ta destroy Veldin for its orbital position, too!”

Talwyn’s jaw drops. She for sure thought those two events were mere rumors.

Now it makes sense. Veldin is Ratchet's home planet, regardless if he wasn't born there. Any threats on his home will be met with hostility on the Lombax’s part.

Criminals told tales of his rage when they provoked him during battle, mocking and threatening to destroy Veldin if Ratchet opposes them. It all ended up with a Lombax unleashing such fury even a Basilisk Leviathan and a War Grok together would cower in terror.

Cronk pipes up. “And, Nefarious threatened ta turn people into robots! A Biobliterator thing, he called it! The crook only escaped but Ratchet beat ‘im fair ‘n square!”

Surprised, Talwyn sighs and shakes her head as a smile crosses her face. “Those boys really do like getting into trouble, don't they?”

Cronk snorts tinnily. “With all ma’ old war buddies gossipin’ about them all the darn time like nursery bots you get sick of hearin’ ‘em say ‘Oh, Ratchet defeated ‘nother big time crook!’ every darn day! Don’t matter if he’s usin’ a new weapon or he’s traipsin’ ‘cross Rykan V with a blasted Gyro-Cycle, or glidin’ around and killin’ things on Sargasso with a Mag-Net Launcher like a suicidal maniac!”

Talwyn purses her lips. “Never rode a Gyro-Cycle but it sounds like fun.”

“It’s dangerous and downright frightenin’, Ms. Apogee. Only Ratchet’s ever used it ‘part from the Smuggler, and the man only rode it once and that was fer a test drive,” Zephyr chuckles.

Cronk groans, rotating his coils with a clink. “I sure do hope they make it. Them youngsters really know how ta keep an ol’ bot waitin’.”

“They'll make it,” Talwyn reassures as she taps her blaster against her leg in rhythm to a silent song. Her shoulders are tense and her fidgeting quiets the warbots for a few seconds, both sharing a knowing look. They know what she’s thinking about despite their humorous shenanigans taking place; she’s worried sick and she’s playing it off as something mild. 

“Ya sure,” Cronk asks gently. He doesn’t want to get the woman’s hopes up for Ratchet and Clank’s return from the wormhole. With the countless injuries Ratchet received throughout their journey together and even before warping to Polaris, the Lombax is sure to collapse with the wounds he’s no doubt suffering in his current battle with Tachyon. He’s a capable fighter and a brilliant tactician on the fly, deadly with anything in his hands from a rubber duck to a mechanic’s tool and a plasma-firing sniper rifle made from trigger-happy Lombax scientists.

His reputation as an intergalactic savior speaks volumes of his prowess in combat, even against all odds and no weapons to defend himself except for an OmniWrench like he did in Solana proves it; when he first started out as a vigilante, got sent to prison on false accusations, and then kidnapped by Gleeman Vox to participate in his barbaric Gladiator Stadium, being forced to fight against other heroes and revered vigilantes who made a difference for sport.

But despite all that he’s accomplished in his short career, nothing could ever keep him safe from injury. One incident, Cronk remembers, was the head injury after Tachyon summoned the Cragmites, and only now does he remember it when Ratchet’s already out of reach.

“He got knocked out on Reepor and got a concussion! An injury like that can make it more difficult ta concentrate in th’ heat o’ battle.”

“Are ya really overthinkin’ ‘bout that again?” Zephyr moans. “They’ll be fine! If anythin’ they should be done by now.”

“Ta be frank, they were sucked through a portal because o' Tachyon! Who knows if they’re dead or dyin’!”

Talwyn rolls her eyes and goes to retort when an explosion of light rocks the building. Waves of colors that shine aquamarine and blinding white blink into existence from a spot in the air, arcs of electricity slamming into the ground leaving burns on the dusty linoleum. Talwyn yelps in surprise and jumps to the side as a stray arc whizzes by, the scent of burning ozone smothering the air. Cronk and Zephyr yell, and in a mad scramble they run into each other, aggravating Zephyr’s thruster coils and dislodging Cronk’s head from his frame.

“Did ya really have ta do that?”

“Not the time fer an argument, Cronk!”

Another ground-quaking wave sweeps the three off their feet and sends them fifteen feet away from the slowly forming portal. It wavers and fizzles, as if it's unstable, and the arcs of electricity spark dangerously even from a distance. The air grows heavy and Talwyn feels the hairs on both her head and her neck stand nearly on end from the intensity of the dimensional storm.

“Hey—ain't that a person?” Cronk asks tentatively.

Talwyn sits up on her elbows and lifts herself from the floor with a grunt, eyes focusing on a nearly indistinguishable figure within the swirling storm of dimensional particles, atoms, and vicious lightning. It’s vaguely humanoid, with an extension near the bottom that fizzles in and out of existence. She leans closer and squints her eyes inquisitively.

The figure looks strange; unfamiliar both in shape and in size. It’s only one figure, but its head is large. Talwyn scratches her head and cautiously approaches despite protests from both warbots who still have yet to stand. She creeps forward and looks closer, flinching when an arc curves mere centimeters from her cheek, the heat from the bolt of energy nearly burning her skin.

“Ms. Apogee, please get back! We don’t know if that thing is safe!” Zephyr pleads, holding onto the starship to keep himself grounded.

Talwyn purses her lips and eyes them with hesitance. Getting back to safety with them is best but she feels the need to investigate. Something tugs at her chest, a feeling that she’d experienced only a handful of times in the years since her father vanished from existence. It’s similar to a gut feeling, but perhaps it’s intuition or a honed sense of judgment after battling space pirates and fending for herself alongside her warbots since she became an orphan. The day she tagged along with Ratchet and Clank, a dynamic duo who saved two—now three—galaxies from destruction and tyranny showed her that all she went through was child’s play compared to the danger they exposed themselves to on a daily basis.

All she did was sneakily track clues as to the whereabouts of the famous Max Apogee and whether or not he still lived. For once, she wants to live up to her father’s name and stand up to fight for her family and her newfound friends.

So she stands and braves the storm.

The rippling field of energy grows as if responding to her defiance, tearing up the floor and sending arcs of electricity that almost hits her and the warbots. She dicks behind a piece of rubble as a bolt strikes, the rock sizzling from the heat. She eyes it with wide eyes and rolls away as another hits the rock, shattering it to pieces. She ducks behind more rubble as the electric bolts increase in frequency until she's about five meters away, squinting at the forms that struggle to form within the storm.

The crackling cloud of electric explosion and antimatter ripples, two shapes finally take form and simply drop to the floor with a thump and a clang, the clouds sizzling until it no longer causes a mass storm. Talwyn stands dumbfounded as the danger she'd hyped herself to confront merely disappears without so much as a glance. Rustling catches her attention and she looks down to see Clank worriedly pushing at Ratchet’s shoulder, the small movement enough to get a groan from the Lombax.

"Ugh, Clank—not so rough, I'm still aching."

Clank ceases his prodding to sit next to him. "My apologies—I was concerned that you were unconscious."

"No problem, pal," Ratchet grins as he pulls himself up, tenderly grasping at his side. 

Talwyn sighs in relief as they gather themselves and pick up the Dimensionator, giving her equal grins as she walks up and hugs them both.

"You guys seriously need to stop making us worry so much. We were beginning to think Tachyon killed you."

Ratchet gives her a fake look of hurt as he puts a hand to his chest and the other over his brow in dramatic fashion, "Oh, woe is me. My fair lady is quite the contemptible viper."

Talwyn punches his shoulder even as she chuckles at Ratchet grabbing his hurt body part and whining like a child on purpose.

"You're lucky I like you guys."

"I'd be worried if you didn't," Ratchet laughs as he shrugs the punch off.

It's only then Talwyn notices the patch of dark red staining his armor and she crosses her arms, quirking her brows at Ratchet. "Any explanation for that injury, Ratchet?"

He frowns, glancing at his side. His gaze returns to hers and he shrugs, "I've felt worse. It's not that big of a deal. Just gimme some nanotech and I'll be right as rain."

Talwyin looks like she wants to punch him again but Clank sighs and hands her the Dimensionator. "I will take him to the ship and dress his injuries. Tachyon was not kind to him throughout their battle."

The woman's face pinches in worry and Ratchet waves it off. "I'm fine, Tal. At least I didn't lose my tail," he grins.

Talwyn frowns. "I don't want to listen to your half-baked lies about your injuries, Ratchet. As a Galactic Hero you should know the importance of keeping yourself healthy."

Ratchet turns his head away with a spark of guilt in his eyes but sighs as Clank gently takes his hand and subtly pulls it in the direction of the ship where Aphelion slowly descends from the sky to hover over the ground. He complies because he can't argue with the bot, trailing after him like a scolded child.

Clank turns back to Talwyn as she follows them, looking her in the eye and giving her a soft look. It's surprising how expressive Clank is despite being made out of metal. "I will take care of him, Ms. Apogee—he can be quite mulish when he feels the need," he chuckles, ignoring Ratchet's indignant squawk.

Talwyn returns the grin with one filled with amusement, watching as Ratchet, hunching closer to Clank's height whines about being fine even as Clank pokes his injury gently enough that it elicits a gasp.

Cronk and Zephyr—thankfully in one piece—jog up to them with relief in their faces.

"You darn whippersnappers almost gave me processor failure," Cronk hollers.

Zephyr snorts as he palms his face. "Stop makin' excuses or you'll lose your darn head again!"

Ratchet quickly lets go of Clank's hand to run up and tackle the old warbots, cackling when Cronk's head pops off and Zephyr falls back laughing hysterically, smacking his knee as Cronk curses them to the heavens and back while Clank face-palms.

Talwyn wouldn't have it any other way.

\------

The ride to the Apogee Space Station is a silent one, tension and weariness in the air makes it hard to start up conversation—something Cronk attempted a half hour prior when the comms only registered static and the faint white of cogs and thrusters only to meet even more silence and a sense of awkwardness when he mentioned the pair of Stunderwear he bought from Umbris on vacation once, wholly missing the embarrassed sigh Ratchet lets out as he piloted Aphelion.

Clank quirks a metal eyelid at him yet his eyes are silently laughing at him. Ratchet pouts.

The Lombax can’t help the fact he created them. His silly inventions are more of an outlet for his intense urge to build—a hobby to occupy his wandering mind from days of innocent youth. Those urges, while confusing to understand why he had fits of insatiable mechanical crafting as a child, make much more sense now that he finally has the answers he sought for so long, however the bitterness that stemmed from such knowledge festered like an infection in the silence of the cockpit.

But learning the Lombaxes had their own language and an alphabet he couldn’t possibly understand drives home the fact that it’s another thing that he could never have as a Lombax. It was part of an identity that he lacks, one he’ll never get the chance to learn, and while Talwyn had generously offered to teach him his kind’s alphabet they were in the heat of battle and she probably wanted to mourn the loss of her father in the weeks that would be reserved for bedrest.

He recalls how heartbroken he was when he couldn’t place the writing etched on the walls of that bunker, and not even his vast understanding of Blarg, Tyhrranoid, Agorian—mainly swears and taunting jabs—a little bit of Fongoid, Grummel, Kerchu, and basic Terachnoid (if only because their tech-y, hybrid nano-particulate fusion gaggle often throws him for a loop); however the one language he never heard with his own two ears is Lombax.

Ratchet doubts he’ll ever get the chance to learn from a real Lombax. The only one he's ever met was Angela, but she hasn't been seen or heard from in years since the Protopet incident. He fears she may have been killed after dropping off the map by Tachyon himself while he was off in Bogon.

He can feel Clank’s optics on him the entirety of the time he thought this, no doubt the small bot senses his bitter silence and unease and is doing his usual all-knowing stare at the back of his head. Ratchet sighs. He’s sure Clank would use mind games to keep him from leaving the bed while Talwyn forces Cronk and Zephyr to tie him down as she forces medicine through his jaws. In all honesty, he’s far too tired to fight back if that were to happen.

“You are thinking much too deeply if you are this quiet, Ratchet,” Clank’s calm voice disrupts Ratchet’s train of thought and brings a balm of comfort that spreads over the gaping wound his thoughts threaten to deepen.

Ratchet looks over to see Clank staring up at him with those innocently large optics that glow green, a shade darker than his own eyes.

He frowns, turns his focus ahead and gently swerves out of an asteroid’s way, the Apogee Space Station a mere dot in the distance. The metal of the outer station redirects sunlight towards them like a beacon, which makes it easier to spot in the vast darkness that is space. Ratchet reminds himself to rest and take a few days off and hope that his longing would fade.

“Just—thinking, is all,” Ratchet says distractedly.

A deadpan stare meets his words. Clank doesn't believe it's as simple as Ratchet makes it out to be, but he continues to observe his partner when he says nothing more. In his silence, his eyes take in the Lombax’s state, taking in the cuts and scrapes on his face, the partially dented trillium plates and slightly drooping ears. The exhaustion in his eyes. He’s aware his friend hasn’t had a proper amount of rest in the last few weeks.

He makes a note to inform Talwyn of his findings. It doesn't sit well with the bot to let Ratchet keep running himself to the ground after he and Clank vanquished Tachyon together in that dimension.

Ratchet’s face had a constant frown since they left the ruins of Fastoon, the longing look in his eyes evident to the party that made sure to delay their departure as much as they could afford. Clank remembers vividly how those proud ears drooped low and his tail laid limp on the cracked, sandcrusted pavement of the ruin’s square. His shoulders, usually held level with his chin in confidence, were slumped in defeat.

It’s painful for them to see a hero look like he lost everything.

Despite victory against a former vengeful tyrant, he lost more of his innocence and the chance to be with those of the same species, the same likeness in both appearance and instincts to build. The loneliness crushed him more than having neither parents and a place to call his true home during his younger years, and though Clank curbed the need for companionship he still feels alone in a universe where his kind is little more than old history—a memory where only the old remember the once great race.

_The shimmer of blue and white and other colors he’d never seen before blooms before Ratchet, bathing him in soft light that ripples like the waves of the ocean’s surface, sunshafts penetrating the lines. They hold their breaths at the beauty that is space and time shifting before them, iridescent, pearly waves warping like liquid glass hanging before Ratchet’s eyes._

_Clank glances at Talwyn as she gasps, face twisted in awe and apprehension as she whispers under her breath._

_“It’s beautiful.”_

_He hums and watches as vaguely familiar structures ripple into view. Large, towering buildings with pointed roofing look similar to those of the buildings he’d seen on Igliak, but the top of the buildings resemble the head of a wrench. Well, he’s seen Ratchet make things that resemble tools so he doesn’t feel surprised._

_The hesitant look Ratchet gives them when he turns away from the portal brings sadness to Clank. A sympathetic kind because he knows what Ratchet longs for. He wants desperately to see his kind, to not be the only one of his species left in the universe—not after Angela Cross dropped off the radar and was assumed dead if Tachyon hunted down the remaining Lombaxes until finding him on Meridia._

_But then he looks down and frowns. “There’s too much for me here in this dimension. I'm not leaving until the Dimensionator’s destroyed.”_

_The look of happiness spreads across their faces, but Clank sees that the declaration of refusal left Ratchet staring longingly at the portal as it closed, particles dancing off his fur like snow adrift the sunrise before they fizzle out of existence._

_He made his decision, but Clank knows that it hurt Ratchet more than anything._

Since their departure, the Lombax never uttered more than a few words.

Both parties travel side by side on the way to the Station. Talwyn is so distracted in her worry she has to correct her path whenever she glances back at the other starship with a frown pulling her lips, fighting the urge to turn her starship around to flank Aphelion. The battle isn’t completely over until they've rested, filled their bellies and recovered from such an exhausting adventure before they even try to talk to each other about it.

But, in all honesty, it wasn't that bad. Sure, she almost died. Cronk and Zephyr almost died. Ratchet and Clank _came close_ to dying.

But—it was the most fun she’s had in a long time since her father’s disappearance.

A smile curls on her lips as her eyes move back to Aphelion. Her flight never wavering even if Ratchet isn’t at all paying attention to her course, his flight smooth and straight as one would expect from an expert pilot.

Perhaps their ragtag group will have more time to spend having fun as normal people rather than scrambling like chickens whose heads had been cut off during a universal pandemic.

She'll have to tease Ratchet about the Stunderwear. There's no way she's missing out on any humorous stories when they'll have plenty of time to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for enduring what may be a mess of storyline, exposition, and a lot of characters you may or may not remember their exact skin/fur coloring and names, but bear with me! I'll include a list in the End Chapter Notes for your convenience if that is to your preference.
> 
> Other than that, let me know if you liked this or not. I encourage reaching out as it provides me a better insight as to the flow of TtV along with more ideas. If _Beyond My Wings_ is any indication as to what I mean, it really does mean a lot to me when you guys reach out. Makes me feel sadistically giddy. :D


	2. True Alternative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banters, shenanigans, and Ratchet decides to fuck up the timeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went all out on cheesy humor and cringy acting, so I hope you are entertained enough. Thank you all for your support!

Four days come and go, and a standard-time afternoon finds Ratchet and Clank at the Apogee Space Station soaking in the sunlight from one of the terrariums, eyes closed and relaxing. Ratchet bears bandages around his torso, arms and left leg, his fur clean of blood and grime from months of constant traveling throughout Polaris to shine a bright gold rather than rusty yellow. Clank had commented on how much better he looks without the evidence of their ordeal staining his partner from head to toe and Ratchet finds himself agreeing when his fur doesn’t pull from dried blood and muck.

His equipment, however, is in dire need of repairs. His armor requires new interlocking joint plates and the only trillium ore they have on hand isn’t enough to fix the whole thing on the fly. He’ll have to settle for his terraflux set until they can look for materials in sectors containing asteroid belts. Maybe a visit to the abandoned Gemlik Moonbase in Oltanis’ orbit is in order, if Thugs-4-Less haven’t bled the place dry yet.

“Ratchet, you must rest. A recovery made in haste is detrimental to your overall health.”

Ratchet sighs and glances at his companion, feeling somewhat dazed yet tired and content right where he is. Between them, the Dimensionator sits scratched and still covered in a fine layer of soot. They never touched it after Talwyn forced house arrest on Ratchet. Clank never brought it up. If he’s honest, he was content to watch him whine and throw tantrums at Talwyn rather than dwell on a matter that will be discussed at a later date.

Ratchet stares at it in sullen silence. His gaze leaves it even before he sets it down to rest in the light, dull as it is, to watch the asteroids drifting around the Station. His eyes stare ahead without registering much else, not when his mind is running light-years with an innumerable amount of thought.

Clank’s little mechanical heart clenches at how lost he looks, how sad and morose he is when he thinks no one looks his way. Even talking with friends never seems to lessen the silent grief that’s consuming his usually outgoing partner.

A day after they returned from Fastoon, Talwyn invited some of their friends and allies all across Polaris and Solana to celebrate the banishment of Tachyon the Tyrant, many of them praising Ratchet and Clank for their bravery and their achievement to yet again save another galaxy almost all on their own. At the time, Ratchet had been slowly recovering from his injuries, most of the time sleeping and rarely waking from his slumber thanks to Talwyn sedating him with heavy doses of nanotech and morphine. Many, including Captain Qwark (shockingly), asked if he really was okay, but she reassured he was fatigued rather than in pain, and it was the honest truth. So when the festivities ended on the morning of the third day Ratchet found himself deep in thought with Clank at his side on the bed. On the fourth day, Clank decided some fresh air and warm sunlight would benefit in Ratchet’s recovery, citing that his health took priority over anything Clank needed (“Really, an oil pitcher is all I require.”) and Ratchet gave up after the small bot pestered him for another five minutes until he agreed.

“Is something the matter, Ratchet,” Clank asks quietly.

* * *

Ratchet mutely regards him before looking back to the Dimensionator, brows furrowing.

“It’s just—” Ratchet starts. He sighs harshly as he cards a hand through his fur when the difficulty in finding the right words impairs his thought process. Everyone is safe now. Them, their friends, the galaxy, the universe (for now)—he should feel something positive about this, leaping for joy at yet another villain being put down for good, but all he feels is this detachment from the festivities, wandering around the station in a daze. He would have joined the others in partying, but lately he finds that he doesn’t quite feel as though he’d won. Rather, he feels as though he’d lost something important, hollow in victory even in triumph.

What would have happened if he actually accepted Tachyon’s proposal? To chase after a longing desire for something that no longer quite fits in this dimension anymore?

He was faced with an opportunity before the final battle—an opportunity he wonders if it was his right when he knew there are other things far more important than meeting his race who may or may not accept him at the drop of a hat.

Yet he stayed. He was given a prime opportunity, and he chose to stay—because he has a galaxy depending on him to rid it of a tyrant who would sooner extinguish life than rightfully rule it. He couldn't just leave it all behind for a selfish wish when he has friends and allies willing to fight alongside him, waiting for him to return and have a long party to celebrate yet another victory.

Maybe he’s crazy, or perhaps he is simply far too kindhearted and selfless for his own good—he chose to protect the galaxy over his only chance of finding the Lombaxes, and he was justified in his decision, but…

He eyes the Dimensionator. The device innocently sits in front of him, fully functional and ready to use at any moment. But is he willing to entertain the thought and let impulse take the wheel?

“Ratchet.”

Hissing from surprise, Ratchet’s fur bristles and he snaps his head to Clank. The bot’s eyes are full of concern.

“You seem preoccupied, and troubled. Is something wrong?” Clank asks.

Ratchet smiles half-heartedly, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, I'm—I'm okay, Clank. Just got a lot on my mind,” he says as he turns in the grass to stare at the pond situated in the center of the terrarium, the odd frog skipping along the surface breaking the silence.

Clank says nothing for a moment, looking at the Dimensionator before it dawns on him what’s really happening. He sighs and pats Ratchet’s left hand.

"You cannot decide whether your wish to remain or leave this dimension to join the Lombaxes was a wise choice, therefore you lament your loss."

It’s more a statement than a question and they both know it. Ratchet can't help but give a low chuckle at the fact that he’s incapable of keeping his thoughts from spilling through his face; his friend knows him better than he knows himself, after all.

"You got me," Ratchet shrugs, eyes moving to his bare hands. He watches as they clench from the weight of uncertainty that threatens to drown him, the claws he keeps sharp sliding out and glinting in the light of a distant star.

He retracts his claws and settles back to soaking the sun’s rays, skin prickling pleasantly as he feels the chill leaving his body.

A comfortable silence descends for a time between them, neither saying a word as memories of times past circle their thoughts. It isn’t until Ratchet finally speaks that they address the current issue.

"What d’you think I should’ve done," Ratchet asks, his voice a tentative whisper. “I know choosing the portal isn’t the right choice but I feel like I’ve chosen wrong, but not? Like I should’ve gone even though leaving is the worst mistake I could make.”

Clank turns his gaze to Ratchet as a flicker of concern brightens his optics. He reaches over and grabs the hand Ratchet had been studying and squeezes.

"I believe that the choice, in the end, is yours to make; but the choices you have made thus far have been for the benefit of countless lives. Lives that would have been lost had you chosen to join the Lombaxes.” Clank looks up at him with a soft smile. “Still, it is normal to feel the need to belong with your race. There is no need to feel ashamed for desiring kinship and you are far from the only individual to feel as such."

Emerald eyes flicker down with uncertainty. Behind him, his tail twitches and curls at the tip a bit, exposing his feelings. Clank spares him the fact if only to help the Lombax sort through the troubling thoughts that circle his mind.

Ratchet’s face breaks out into a smile. “Thanks pal—it means a lot to me. I guess I’ll just have to look for the Lombaxes still remaining in this dimension. We might even become friends. Maybe they know our language so I can ask for pointers,” he snorts but the sadness in his gaze lingers a bit.

If Clank had a real flesh and blood heart right then and there, it would have wept in sadness at the admission. He seeks to rectify that by shifting closer until their sides touch and Ratchet pulls him in a tight side hug, face brightening as Clank leans into his side.

If this is what it feels like to have a sibling then Ratchet wouldn’t dream of saying otherwise.

“What can I do without ya, pal?”

Clank chuckles. No matter the age, Ratchet’s still a child clinging to people he loves, and even if not many notice that particular detail. Clank understands well enough he was starved of affection growing up alone in the desolate sands of Veldin’s arid land but he’d grown used to keeping people at arms’ length out of habit.

"Quite a bit," Clank chuckles. "No one else possesses the knowledge on how to tolerate your recklessness. And might I say there are more than a few incidents in one mission alone to give me short circuits every now and then."

Ratchet ducks his head, laughing slightly. “You sound like an old man, Clank. But, I guess you're right about that." The Lombax then becomes solemn once more, his fingers gripping the three metal ones. "But still, you're my best friend. I can’t see myself saving another galaxy without ya there. It would be weird.”

“I concur. I still need to make sure you are not attempting to get yourself killed.”

Ratchet pouts. “Rude.”

“It is not rude. You were the definition of rude back when we first met.”

“Hey,” Ratchet snickers. “That was years ago!”

“And yet your juvenile delinquency has a tendency to resurface.”

“That was only one time in the past year, Clank!”

Clank stares at him unimpressed. “Name one time we had not crashed a cruiser, stole from major companies, bribed authorities and less than savory characters, antagonized criminals, challenged warriors from a volatile race, participated in illegal activities, collaborated with militaristic organizations, occupied sectors, hunted animals to extinction, and vandalized private property in the pursuit of bolts?”

Okay, Ratchet concedes. He does have a point. Every year he swears he gets involved in more shenanigans in the name of galactic security.

“‘Kay, fine, you win. It gets worse every year.”

Clank nods and grins at him with an air of polite smugness that has the Lombax shaking his head with a chuckle.

There is another second of silence in which Clank inspects his friend before he gives him an honest answer. Ratchet stares at the Dimensionator with a depressingly deep look of longing that shines in his eyes, fingers curling around the cold, metal device as if the object itself could provide him answers.

Ratchet, however, doesn’t register Clank or the world around him, rather his focus turns inward as he replays the last words the Emperor himself screamed before he met his demise. Tachyon said his father was dead shortly after he was sent to the Solana Galaxy, but that—that just doesn't sound plausible to Ratchet. The way he told him sounded fake, misleading, like a last-minute jab at him and his person before the Cragmite vanished. Was it a last attempt to upset him and leave a mark? Ratchet doesn't know, but his instincts tell him to question the validity of those words, and usually his instincts aren't wrong. It would make sense; someone as proud as Tachyon lying to save his dignity and leave a mental scar was something he would stoop low enough to execute.

It doesn’t mean he was immune to the jab. Not entirely, anyway. So he thinks.

Before Clank, he'd been all alone. Just so alone where he sat at the edge of Kyzil Plateau wondering if something went wrong somewhere. The garage he used to call home was a mere reminder that he was a reject even among the few Cazars that travelled for the oil reserves to the far southern plateaus away from his location. They always called him a filthy half-breed or a freak for looking so different from them when he approached them, his eagerness at the idea that perhaps they were relatives with how similar they looked shriveling with every remark. He’d eventually attuned himself to the fact that they abhorred his very existence and so he avoided the transport caravans, instead hiding in his garage whenever they visited. The last time he conversed with a Cazar was with Sasha and her father on Marcadia after the whole Vox fiasco, though they are the only Cazars he sees in a good light.

"Wherever you go Ratchet, I will follow."

The Lombax blinks, ears standing straight up at those words.

"I know, bud."

"Of course. Someone must ensure you remain out of harm’s way and stop you when you seek trouble."

A startled laugh of surprise erupts from the young male and Clank joins in as both bask in the content joy that grows ever stronger between them. It speaks volumes of their close friendship forged from years spent at each other’s side battling villains with unorthodox ideologies and thirst for power, growing stronger and craftier as they liberate planets and their respective galaxies. Ratchet once mentioned they’re possibly the only ones that continually stumble across misfits and crime organizations hellbent on galactic domination wherever they travel and Clank can’t find it in himself to wish otherwise. Deviating from their lives and hero routine would be comparable to working a desk job chained to a padded room at an asylum. Ratchet would surely be driven crazy from sheer boredom.

Clank often chuckles when he thinks about it. Long before now, when Ratchet instinctively reaches out to authoritarian and militaristic forces whenever they pick up distress signals and request for aid by government bodies during trying times, he used to desire a quiet life in his garage on the peaceful plateaus of Kyzil on Veldin, working on machines and star cruisers like the mechanic he is. It was the elusive lifestyle he was used to and would have returned to had Clank given him the chance.

Thinking about that particular event, Clank doesn’t recall when exactly Ratchet brushed it away in favor of looking after the galaxies, over their friends and allies who inhabit many of the planets they visited out of habit rather than outright obligation to his duties.

He’ll have to ask once Ratchet gets out of his funk.

* * *

Their fit of laughter tapers off to minute snickers, and a companionable hush arises between them when they quiet down. It feels so long since they could just sit down and relax—the frantic running and the hectic mission of saving another Galaxy no longer breathes at the back of their necks. Ratchet misses days like this one, so much for the reason that he no longer clearly remembers what it’s like to not have a timer over his head.

Ratchet looks back to the device in his hands and thinks back to the longing he felt when Tachyon opened that portal, taunting him with the image of a Lombax City that successfully built itself over time since their retreat.

He wants to join his race, but he has responsibilities in this dimension; he can’t possibly leave it all behind for a selfish wish when another villain could crop up and threaten the very existence of everything imaginable. So with a heavy heart he deposits the Dimensionator on the ground and does his best to ignore the itch under his skin.

"Ratchet?"

He shakes his head and stands, grabbing the device before hefting Clank up on his feet. “C’mon, pal. I’m sure Talwyn and the others are wondering where we are.”

Clank gives him a questioning look, one Ratchet ignores as he deposits the Dimensionator in a secure pod near the resting quarters. “Perhaps,” he nods, gently taking hold of Ratchet’s wrist to steer him towards one of the rooms. “Ms. Apogee should still be within her quarters. She told me she was trying to contact a few companies.”

“Alright. Let’s go. I need to figure out where I can get some vacation time. Hopefully Quark won’t bother us again and stop getting people to hunt us down.”

“Yes, I am also hoping he does not interrupt us in our time of leisure. You will require time to rest,” Clank chuckles.

Ratchet rolls his eyes but a grin crosses his face. “Like I need more time stuck in a stuffy, smelly hospital room.”

“‘Smelly’?” Clank inquires, squinting his optics at Ratchet. “May I recall a _certain Lombax_ who trudged through Aquatos’ sewer system searching for crystals to exchange for bolts and never complained once even after we set a course for Tyhrranosis?”

Ratchet stares with a twitching eye.

Little guy has a point.

Doesn’t mean his pride didn’t get shot for it.

“Whatever,” Ratchet pouts.

Clank chuckles as he heads for Talwyn’s quarters, a stylized decal of a map with a magnifying glass gleaming from the smooth metal of the door. It opens with a faint whooshing hiss and a synthesized voice rolling out a welcome line.

“Greetings _Ratchet_ … and _Clank_ —access granted.”

Ratchet rolls his eyes at the unnecessary touch. Talwyn’s Station is cool enough as it is.

Luckily for them, their friend perks up from her bed when the duo enters, maps scattered throughout the room and littering her floors, draping on the scant few pieces of furniture the room houses. A few pictures hang from the walls with a few featuring Ratchet and Clank with Talwyn from their latest adventure.

Talwyn pays him no mind, which he finds is acceptable judging from the state of her room. Instead of a set of lightweight leather-plate armor she wears a simple large tan shirt with a few stains and some green slacks and—hold up.

Flicking his ears, he leans backwards almost mechanically with an inscrutable look and trying to do it as furtively as possible just to see if he really saw what he spotted, and yep, there they are. In all their glory snuggly wrapped around her feet with gaping maws and large yellow eyes. He leans forward slowly much to Clank’s curiosity and goes back to peering through the photos with a blank face even if internally he’s laughing hard.

Never pegged Talwyn as the type to wear sharkigator slippers. Guess he knows what to get her for Christmas.

Focusing on the photos, he spots one of Cronk missing his head and Zephyr laughing at him and pointing with a finger. The next shot right beside it has Zephyr, presumably a few seconds after the first was taken, hunching over with an arm on his back while Cronk points at him with a hand to his chassis. He grins. Karma got him even when he laughed at Cronk. Hysterical.

Further to the right has Ratchet smacking away a Cragmite, a fierce snarl on his face as he plows his trusty wrench in its face. He squints when he catches sight of his tail all puffed up like a cat.

Huh. Never knew it puffed up at all. Good to know. He’ll add it to his Things-Lombaxes-Do-But-Are-Yet-to-Be-Documented journal of his he keeps in his Manifester.

“Ratchet, I have hundreds more pictures in the terminal bay. Just head to the armory and it’ll be in the next room to the left. I even have that one shot of you tripping over air on Rykan V.”

Ratchet turns around to catch her amused seafoam eyes. “What? You did not.”

Her smug look and eyebrow waggle shoots his hopes down.

“How? You were on comms!”

“I have my ways,” she chuckles as she turns back to her work.

He sighs. Must've been Zephyr; he knows it.

Talwyn chuckles and he pouts at her, faltering when he sees her face. The few plasters and bandages still stick to her arms and face, covering the cuts she received throughout their journey. Ratchet notes how energetic she is regardless of her condition as he eyes the scribbles on the parchment, the one in her hand sporting bright red ink, a bag of Omnio chips popping up through her sheets.

“You guys might as well sit down so I can give my report,” she shakes her head side to side with a sarcastic tone, waving her marker at them as she absently scrolls through her holo-interface. Ratchet gives her a mock salute back and receives an eye roll in return. “Just got a bit of business to get done. What do you need?” She peeks over the display to squint her eyes at Ratchet. “And just so you know, you’re not supposed to be out of bed, Fuzzy.”

Ratchet holds up his hands for a cease-fire.

“I slept plenty. Any more and I might as well ‘port to the Agorian Battleplex and dent some Snagglebeast skulls,” Ratchet grins. “‘Least their clusterbomb challenges get the blood hot and pumpin’. Besides that, any leads on getting some trillium ore?”

He ignores her inquiry as to when he battled at the Agorian Battleplex when he's in Solana. Woman really needs to brush up on her star charts because the place is next to the Spaceship Graveyard conveniently located next to a planet that goes by the name Sargasso.

Sounds gassy. He should check it out. Apparently there's dinosaurs there.

Talwyn sighs and says something along the lines of “can’t believe I’m friends with a suicidal adrenaline junkie” and half-heartedly gestures at the holo-interface.

Looking at the symbols backwards, he can easily tell she’s looking for certain manufacturing industries and weapons vendor emporiums in Polaris able to send a shipment of trillium ore to their sector, though the approximate cost for the amount of ore and the transport fees is possibly going to burn holes through his finances even with his generous bank account.

“I’ve talked with Gadgetron and GrummelNet already, since you trust them a lot more than Megacorp and several other corporate weapons industries combined. They can’t spare any of their ore even after I mentioned my affiliation with you because Gadgetron is using it all in the rebuilding effort to restore what Tachyon destroyed, and GrummelNet is suffering through a recent shortage due to what Grummel One thinks is sabotage from a competing company. How long it’ll take for either to resolve before they consider reviewing a possible request order is undetermined. It could take weeks or months before we get any word back and we don’t exactly have that kind of time if you’re heading out soon. You’ll have to settle with the Terraflux suit until we find a replacement that’s stronger.”

“I can always raid Thugs-4-Less and see what they got, though I doubt it’s anything stronger than what my Blackstar armor can offer.” Ratchet offers, hopping on a stool and fiddling with his shirt, wishing he could go shirtless. The fabric is itchy, pulling on his bandages whenever he moves. Which is a pain, but small sacrifices must be made if he’s to avoid getting a blaster shot to the face. “I mean, I can even visit some of our safehouses where some of my stuff is stashed? I’m pretty sure no one knows where they are. If Quark hasn’t mindlessly blabbed it to the media, of course.”

“I have monitored every galactic broadcasting band that mentions Captain Quark and he has not said anything pertaining to our whereabouts,” Clank pipes up. Ratchet nods, satisfied to know their homes are safe from those rabid media vultures.

He really should empty them out and vacate them as soon as possible. There’s no telling when that Solanan ape lets the word slip through his ridiculous interviews.

Talwyn rolls her eyes. “I still have no idea why you keep all your older sets like a weirdo. Why not sell them?”

Ratchet has half a mind to be dramatic and gasp like some soap opera housebot from Copperella’s Affair on holovision but he brushes the thought away as his eyes darken and the smile drops. “I never sell or recycle my armor. It’s too big of a risk.”

The look that Talwyn gives him is outrageously contorted, so much that he wonders if she had anything bitter for lunch and only now it’s beginning to get noticed.

“Did something like this happen before?”

Clank offers her an explanation, casting a look of concern at Ratchet who focuses on a hologram with schematics to an experimental gadget that looks awfully like an upgrade for the Holo-guise. Then he looks on in confusion when the thing splits to show the synthetic appearance of a rubber chicken wearing a pink polka-dot bikini rather than the hobbling robot pirate.

“A few years after we successfully defeated Dr. Nefarious and his Biobliterator, Ratchet wished to have time to relax. Eventually we settled to take holiday on planet Pokitaru for what we hoped were two weeks of uninterrupted relaxation. Unfortunately, Ratchet was captured by the enemy and was taken to an underground medical facility that practiced the illegal cloning of patients who have not given consent.”

Talwyn drops the bag of chips and her jaw goes slack, eyes wide in shock. Her eyes snap to the Lombax with worry in her eyes but Ratchet placates her with his usual grin once he tears his eyes away from the bemusing sight of the upgrade.

“I’m doing alright, Tal. Clank already gave me a pep-talk about it this morning,” Ratchet sighs, rubbing his ear. “Though let me tell ya, I wasn’t having a good time when I woke up in that facility. Fighting clones of myself was so weird. I thought I was dreaming.”

“What happened to your clones after you guys defeated the enemy?”

“What the Polaris Galactic Union decided was to just de-weaponize the clones and shrink them into a toy-sized marketing brand for kids. Surprisingly, sales went well and my clones are doing okay. For the most part; one of them lives in an apartment we bought on Marcadia because he didn’t want to be a toy; though he isn’t that great at being a pet dog either.”

Talwyn snorts, using the brief pause to compose herself and pick up the chips, internally sighing at the wasted few that now litter the floor. “Of course he does. Children are the worst sometimes. Even Ratchet can be one given the circumstance. Clank’s literally the only one capable of getting your fuzzy butt to listen—he’s more your mother than a partner, I swear.”

Ratchet pouts even as Clank chuckles.

“Rude.”

“I’m sure it’s you who’s the rude one. I remember a certain rumor a few years back where you trashed Kerwan just to get on a sky train,” Talwyn grins.

“That was one time—”

“And then you busted into Zordoom with a half-baked plan while also rubbing in the guards’ faces that they suck at keeping prisoners locked up and cozy in their fancy cell pods. I hacked into the security feeds. I saw you making faces at them when you guys were blazing your way in while they’re forced to dance to your Groovitron.”

Ratchet pauses and chuckles. “Okay, I gotta admit it was funny when we broke in and then out just as easily. They _really_ need to beef up their security. A naked Quark could slip through and no one would notice.”

All three in the room shudder from the mental image.

“You’re just lucky they can’t actually touch a hair on your head without three whole galactic government unions and your ridiculous fan base hunting them down,” Talwyn says, giving him a lopsided grin.

Ratchet shrugs. “Comes with the hero-ing. I swear the Unions send me to fix their messes and beat up their bad guys because they can’t do jack.”

“Well, they don’t have an adrenaline junkie who’s willing to be suicidal enough to try.”

Ratchet shares an amused glance with Clank and the robot shakes his head in fond exasperation.

“Oh dear,” Clank sighs fondly.

Talwyn squints her eyes at them in suspicion, lowering her map as if to brace for whatever shenanigans Ratchet pulled while she was occupied. “I’ve only been gone thirty minutes. What did you _do_?”

Ratchet looks offended but it melts away when he lets a snicker escape. The Markazian rolls her eyes and looks at Clank.

“Is it bad?”

“Not usually,” Clank shrugs nonchalantly.

Ratchet gasps. “Hey!”

“Well,” Talwyn prompts, gesturing at Clank, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. “What did Fuzzy do?”

Ratchet might as well say it instead of giving Clank more incentive to spin the tale out of proportion. “I promise we didn’t blow anything up in the Station.”

“Somehow that does little to make me not worry.”

“Nah, this was when we were fighting Tachyon. You won’t _believe_ how mad he was when I told him Zordoom was offering room and board. Screamed like a whiny little Tyhrranoid with a squeaky voice and a Crotchetizer giving him hives.”

Talwyn chuckles and fixes her map. She takes her marker and settles it on the mattress, waving her hand over to dismiss the holo-interface display in favor of hopping off the bed and rubbing her eyes.

“Right, while you guys are excitedly babbling about the wonders of messing with people I need to make a quick call to another manufacturer to see if they can spare us a few thousand bolts’ worth of trillium. You guys go chill somewhere. And Ratchet? No training rooms until you’re actually cleared for it!” The glare she adds withers the deviant part of him a little.

“Aw, man,” Ratchet groans as she walks out, supposedly to go find a communicator strong enough to reach halfway across the galaxy. Clank spares him a grin as he pulls an infobot from his compartment. He wiggles it at the Lombax who eyes it suspiciously.

“Might you be interested in the latest airing of Annihilation Nation?”

Ratchet eyes sparkle. “I like how you think, buddy.”

* * *

“Okay, I have to admit, the B2-Brawler wiped the floor out of the new guy.”

“Yes, I agree. He did not have the right equipment to counter his opponent’s attacks.”

“More like he couldn't predict those leg swipes. How in the world did he not see that? He shoulda done his homework before fighting B2. The legs are too predictable.”

“Need I remind you that not everyone is a seasoned galactic hero?”

“Okay, point taken,” Ratchet sighs. He slides further down the couch to stretch his arms up, yawning as he flexes his clawed toes, tail curling pleasantly. Clank watches him silently as he turns off the holo-screen. Woefully, the next episode won’t air for another two standard-days.

“Hey there, fellas!”

Ratchet perks up at the sound of Cronk’s tinny voice as the robot saunters in with the Dimensionator in hand. Ratchet frowns in confusion as to why Cronk is carrying it around rather than leaving it in the weapons storage room for obvious reasons.

“Cronk, why do you have that?”

“Was jus’ tryin’ ta see if it works still, but Zephyr ain’t lettin’ me play with it.”

“Ya darn fool, they already took out th’ washer! The blasted thing don’t work and it better not!”

“I know it don’t work, I’m jus’ tryin’—whoops!”

Ratchet wilts a little as they suddenly drop the very legacy his race left behind like it’s some cheap toy. Clank pats his shoulder in sympathy.

“Guys, I put that in a pod for a reason.”

“Aw, sorry Ratchet! Wanted ta’ see if i’ still worked. Guess it don’t. Now put tha’ back, Cronk!” Zephyr hollers, waving his arms in the air like wet noodles. Ratchet rubs his face.

“Look, I appreciate that you’re having…”

The warbots peer at him with an almost innocent air around them, fairy lights hanging off of them blinking pink and yellow, both sporting ridiculous clothes he’s sure he’s seen somewhere in Gorda City.

“...fun, but I’m serious. Even if the centicubit washer isn’t in there, there’s still a chance it could activate. I’d rather no one gets dragged through a random wormhole, thanks.” He tries to smile but it feels more like a grimace, all teeth and less lip. He can tell they notice it too, for all their oblivious nature often masks it from them.

“Ah, shoot. Sorry, Ratchet!” Cronk frowns, and picks up the Dimensionator. Zephyr huffs at his side and turns to a direction Ratchet vaguely recalls where the maintenance wing is. Cronk takes the opposite way, obviously heading for the weapons room to put the device back.

Ratchet sighs and slumps on the sofa, Clank peering at him with a small smile.

“This feels like a long day. Does it feel like a long day? Because I can _definitely_ tell it’s gonna be a very long day.”

Clank chuckles. “I assure you, you may be overthinking.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I just hope the Dimensionator doesn’t activate again…”

“While I may not succeed in soothing your worries there is a high probability that the Dimensionator will not work without the washer. You made sure of that.”

Ratchet smiles and holds out a fist, Clank meeting him halfway with his own.

They watch a few more matches starting the B2-Brawler but Ratchet gets bored even after the announcer mentions Moustachio, hoping the mysterious challenger returns to excite his audience. He snorts but considers the idea if nothing threatening life itself pops up in the next week, maybe even the Battleplex if they aren't busy.

Now that he thinks about it, he should get in touch with Skid and join him for a hoverboard race sometime. It's been a few years since they hung out and he’s itching to stretch his legs.

He lifts his head with a blink. Actually, that doesn’t sound too bad.

“Hey, Clank,” he pauses and waits until the bot gives him his undivided attention. “What do you think of a visit to Kalebo III?”

Clank tilts his head. “To join the hoverboard races, I assume?”

“Yup,” Ratchet nods, looking through his communicator for Skid’s line. “I thought we’d do something fun,” he makes exaggerated head movements to compliment his eye rolling as he says, “until the next time some bad guy decides it’s his turn to one-up every galactic criminal we’ve put down. Though, none of them are as dangerous as Nefarious or Tachyon.”

Clank smiles in amusement. “On that, I do agree. Although a nice visit to Kalebo III does sound pleasing, you are aware you need to rest until you participate in such vigorous activities. Otherwise, why are you thinking about Skid now? He has extended invitations to join him in his competitions before; you never accepted them until now.”

“Well, with overly dramatic villains it’s hard to get time off. Then again, galactic heroes don’t get vacations.” Ratchet laughs as he gets up and stretches, tail curling when his back pops. “C’mon, I gotta get my stuff before we tell Talwyn we’re off to the races. Can’t have her dragging me just to rest and boring me out of my mind.”

“We all care for your wellbeing and pushing yourself in your current state will only hinder your recovery. She only has good intentions, Ratchet.”

Ratchet grins, almost half hearted with the way it sinks on one side.

“Nah, I’ll be fine. If it doesn’t work we can always lie about going on a milk run and she won’t suspect a thing.”

“Would this be a good time to remind you she monitors the Station through her cameras?”

Ratchet freezes. “Ah, Qwark. I was hoping she wouldn’t.”

Clank shakes his head and slides off the couch, keeping pace with him as he heads for the armory. The comforting silence that follows with the exception of their footsteps ringing in the halls allows for his mind to drift, trusting his feet to take him where he needs to go.

Sure, he could have accepted Skid’s invitations but they always came at a bad time when he’s busy hopping from planet to planet racing against time to stop bad guys. When he does get a bit of down time he’s either mentally and physically exhausted or he’s dead to the world on his comfortable bed, sleeping more than half a standard day away. The transmission pads he finds eventually would bear dates that are well past due their scheduled events and Ratchet guiltily sends them back when he can with an attached message saying how sorry he is for missing them, stating that life is a Qwark and that he’s running himself ragged. Thankfully, news spreads across galaxies about recent events so Skid is very understanding when he replies “it’s all good, lil’ dude!” back.

A whooshing sound breaks him from thinking further and Ratchet realizes he’s facing the armory. He walks in and ignores the many projects littering the room’s floor, zeroing in on his armor sets hanging proudly from the wall at the far back under the mounted lights letting off a soft yellow glow. He rifles through shelves and compartments, storing every gadget and weapon he owns in his Manifester without a second thought. He pauses on his Agents of Doom glove and wonders how the heck this made its way in here.

He shrugs and stores it anyway. Never know when these might come in handy. They are absolute packages of adorably destructive little buggers that are surprisingly effective against most people.

“Do not forget your wrench, Ratchet.”

Ratchet stifles a snort. Who does Clank think he is, leaving his prized baby alone in the cold darkness of the armory?

“Clank, bud, I already have ‘er right here.” The cheeky Lombax pats his OmniWrench that hangs from the magnetic strap across his back.

Clank blinks and nods, looking sheepish. “Ah, I see. My apologies. I forget you are overly attached to it.”

“Don’t sweat it. It’s fine,” Ratchet shrugs, turning away when he feels his cheeks burn.

The suits take some time to look over for Ratchet, mainly due to the fact that some aren’t in the best of condition when he retired them early in his latest adventure. Of course, the Blackstar set sits on the left, looking pretty ragged and worn at the front. The Helios set looked great until artillery shells ripped the left side open and he was lucky when he bought the Terraflux set soon after. He doubts that survival with a freaking hole exposing his ribs would’ve been pleasant. As for the Terraflux set, this one definitely looks better condition-wise. Only bearing a few tears that don’t expose the raritanium plating beneath the reinforced Werthog scales. Replacing either would be costly.

He nods and inputs the security code in the keypad, waiting patiently for the revolving glass door to slide open to snag his armor and head to his quarters at a sprint, Clank hopping on his shoulder so he won’t be left behind. He’s a few steps from getting to his room when he spots Talwyn hunching over her holo-interface with furrowed eyebrows on the couch, Cronk and Zephyr facing her and playing with the Dimensionator again.

Groaning, he wipes his face. “Cronk, Zephyr, didn’t we just talk about this?”

The warbots freeze and turn to him looking as sheepish as two old warbots can be.

Talwyn sighs but grins, looking frustrated despite her attempt at looking cheerful. “Leave them be, Ratchet. They’re like kids if you don’t pay attention.” She ignored the indignant cries the aforementioned bots make. “Besides, I need to tell you how the call went anyway.”

Ratchet sighs and deposits his armor on the coffee table, unceremoniously dropping himself on the other side of the couch Talwyn occupies.

“So? What’cha got?”

“They can’t spare anything at all,” Talwyn says, frowning when Ratchet sighs and palms his face. “They’re all pitching in to help Solana recover. We can’t do anything except find some on our own.”

“Well that stinks,” Ratchet mutters. Beside him, Clank walks up to her and hops on the couch.

“Is there a way for us to obtain trillium? We can certainly acquire them by travelling through the galaxy.”

“We could but that would take long. I’m sure you guys are familiar with raritanium mining?” Their disgruntled expressions answer her questions. “Well, trillium is much rarer than that, which is ironic, but Solana doesn’t have a lot just drifting around. Your best bet might be the far reaches of Polaris. Bogon doesn’t naturally have either of them so that galaxy is out.”

“Great,” Ratchet groans. “Well, raiding it is. I bet the Smuggler might know some good spots.”

“Ratchet, no,” Talwyn groans.

“Ratchet, yes. Besides, they usually have a lot of good stuff other than rare minerals and metals.”

“I highly doubt you’re in tip top shape, Fuzzy.”

“Tal, I had enough doses of nanotech to fix an entire army. I’m fine.”

Clank watches them succumb to yet another debate and separates them, both not realizing they’ve been inching closer and bearing their fists at one another like two school children fighting over a toy blaster.

“Enough, let us settle this debate peacefully. Ratchet, Ms. Apogee is right; more time to rest will put our worries at ease, yet Ratchet is also correct that he has had enough treatment to safely move about without pain. Both of you can compromise, so please relax and agree on a decision.”

Ratchet huffs and pouts, crossing his arms. Talwyn sighs and picks up her holo-interface, scrolling through text and shoving it in Ratchet’s face, making him recoil.

“This is also all over galactic news, so don’t think you can squirrel away to some isolated planet doing reckless things without us knowing.”

Ratchet has half a mind to ask how she knew he was going to leave but his eyes narrow on the text displayed in the pad. Confused, he quickly snatches it from Talwyn’s hands and scrolls through it, choking at the headlines making their way across Channel 64 News’ galactic broadcasts.

**_“Galactic Hero Duo Ratchet and Clank Save the Day Once More!”_ **

**_“Latest Revelations of Lombax Race Surface After Cragmite Defeat; Secrets Involving Multiple Dimensions?”_ **

**_“Vigilante Weekly: Beloved Galactic Hero Ratchet of the Lombax Race Could Be Heir to the Throne?”_ **

**_“1,000 Things You May Not Know About: Galactic Hero Ratchet.”_ **

**_“Are Beloved Hero Duo Ratchet and Clank Retiring or Planning to Save Yet Another Galaxy?”_ **

He stares at the screen like it’d grown into a Tyhrranoid and then subsequently spawned a horde of mini-Qwarks to hunt his furry butt down? This is ridiculous!

He scrolls through more news feeds, online discussion boards spanning high-densely populated planets in Solana, conspiracy forums in the dark channels, and even checking remote sectors and smuggler scanners for the over-the-top headlines that rear both interested and ugly heads. Most of them are total Blarg crap and only add on nonsense to make sense of something they barely have knowledge to pick from, and others are scandalous at best. Throughout many of the articles, quite a few stand out in positive light and Ratchet blanches at how obsessive some of the reporters are for fresh information on a seemingly long-dead Lombax race. “Oh no,” he mutters.

Well, there goes any future privacy and anonymity he might achieve in distant sectors.

“Oh yes,” Talwyn sings back, relishing in his agony as she snatches the holopad back. “You’ll be too busy with your fan club following you around to actually enjoy being reckless for once and I’m not stopping it. You might as well camp here. No one’s entering the asteroid belt unless they want trouble.”

Ratchet pouts. “As grateful as I am about that, I was hoping I’d get a break on some tropical moon or something.”

Talwyn snorts. “Good luck with that.”

He doesn’t deign to bite the bait she presents, eager to ignore her smirking face in favor of fetching an infobot in the hopes it’ll have something interesting to show.

Before he even gets the chance to stand Cronk dances into view with Clank on his back—presumably to stop the warbot’s shenanigans and failing spectacularly—and Zephyr palming his face with a rattling sigh.

“Look a’ me! I’m Tachyon! The one and only Prince o’ the Craggy-mites!”

Zephyr watches Cronk with an unimpressed look before letting out another heavy sigh, slumping and then straightening in a way similar to a man trying to get attention from the opposite sex. All present in the room can guess as to why.

“And here we go,” Ratchet mutters as he droops on the couch, looking very much willing to sink into its depths.

“Oh dear,” Clank frowns in sympathy, watching him even try to become one with the couch.

“Kill me, please,” Talwyn groans. She ignores them in favor of facepalming.

Both warbots don’t seem to notice the long suffering sighs they release in almost perfect tandem, too engrossed in their latest shenanigan to pay them any attention. Ratchet is secretly glad Qwark and Rusty Pete aren’t present to witness this because they’d only egg the bots on with stupid shouts of encouragement and flamboyant displays of abysmal acting.

“I’m all powerful! F-f-fear my mightiness and… so on?”

Yes, Ratchet decides. This is torture.

“I am emperor! I rule you all! Even the universe!”

Zephyr cackles and brandishes his—wait, is that his wrench?—weapon and swings it around like it’s a wet noodle. Ratchet bemoans the fact he has to make sure it doesn’t get tossed somewhere in the heat of their game.

“Ugly bugger. Die, Cragmite fiend, die!”

“This is like watching a school play with two war groks acting out Romeo and Juliet,” Talwyn mutters, her face devoid of anything remotely resembling emotions. Somehow the image is even funnier when he’s listening to Cronk and Zephyr’s ridiculous chatter.

“Tell me about it.”

“You know, Ratchet, war groks do have a better sense for acting if their trainer teaches them.”

“Huh, I didn’t know,” Ratchet mutters as he sinks further in his seat.

Zephyr swings the wrench in Cronk’s direction and Talwyn, sighing, drops her pad to march up to them, wrenching the weapon out of Zephyr’s hands and tossing it to Ratchet, who catches the deadly thing without looking or flinching. She turns towards the warbots who sheepishly look away.

“You guys have to be careful or Cronk will lose his head again. It’s literally a microcubit away from popping off and then getting lost somewhere. _Again_. Remember Reepor?”

“Aw, my apologies Ms. Apogee. We didn’t mean no harm!” Zephyr placates her, waving his arms.

Cronk frowns, though if his face was made of flesh he might be pouting right now. “My head ain’t gonna pop off! ‘Sides, we were playin’! The doohickey ain’t gonna turn on!”

“I know that but you still shouldn’t be playing with it, washer or no washer.”

Cronk exchanges a look with Zephyr and Talwyn gets the sinking feeling he’s up to no good. In a flurry of movement Cronk tosses the Dimensionator at Zephyr and scurries away, paying no mind to Zephyr’s angry cries when the device bounces off his head and then flies towards Ratchet and Clank. Ratchet yells and smacks the device away out of reflex and it flies towards Talwyn who ducks, spinning around to watch it roll up a curved archway and fly over them all to land on Cronk, who screams and falls on his rear which knocks off the Dimensionator into a potted tree before flying off somewhere, and then the tree lands on an expensive display case holding a painting, which bounces off the floor and smacks Ratchet in the face. Tawlyn panics and runs over to see if he’s fine only to stop and laugh when he looks up.

“What?”

Clank’s eyes widen when Ratchet turns to him for an answer and Clank’s optics increase in size and he clasps his hands on his mouth. He then looks to the warbots and they crack up laughing as well.

“What the heck is on my face!?”

“It’s a painting of Captain Qwark in a leotard, Ratchet,” Talwyn wheezes, holding herself with the couch.

Eyes widening, he pries off the frame with a grunt and spins it around to find the horrifying sight of a nearly naked Qwark in a leopard print leotard and a skirt around his waist, bright red high heels on his feet and the ugliest purse he’s ever laid eyes on. The place where the Captain’s face would’ve been is torn open from having his face rip through it.

He drops the painting like it’s poison.

“I’m seriously considering using holy water to wash my hands and face.”

Cronk lifts a hand, pointer finger raised, when the Dimensionator lands on Zephyr’s head with a loud clunk, startling the warbot into falling to the floor.

Cronk pauses and lowers his hand, desperately trying to seem innocent when he knows no one will buy the act.

“Oi, ya darn ingrate! I don’t want my head poppin’ off like yours anytime soon!” Zephyr spits as he picks himself up, looking ready to toss the Dimensionator in irritation after checking to make sure he didn’t get damaged.

Talwyn rubs her forehead as she takes in the mess she now has to clean up. “Guys, really…?”

A sense of calm blankets the earlier chaotic nature of the warbots, giving Ratchet an excuse to steal Talwyn’s holo-interface to mess with the system functions, hoping to change the interface text color from pale green to a magenta to cheer her up. He’s thwarted when Clank snatches it back.

Talwyn inspects the Dimensionator for any more damage, noticing the new scuffs and scratches along the metal.

Cronk returns soon after looking afraid as Talwyn pins him with a glare. Ratchet whistles out a silly tune.

“She's gonna kill ya now, buddy.”

“Oh, I’m going to kill him alright. If this thing gets broken I’m sure his head popping off will be the least of his problems.”

Ratchet laughs and sits forward to take a look, reaching out to pick up the device when the whole room shakes, the air becoming charged with static. Feeling his fur rising, supercharged to the touch, and the pull in his gut urges him to dive behind the couch at the first sign of danger. He grips his OmniWrench, Clank slotting himself in the magnetic strap on his back as they prepare for confrontation.

He hears crashing and glass breaking, presumably everyone else taking cover. He distantly hears Zephyr screaming at Cronk for activating the Dimensionator but Cronk screams back he didn’t do anything since it’s broken. Ratchet shakes his head and peeks over the back of the couch, his ears low and tail lashing behind him. What he sees almost makes him drop his weapon.

“Whoa,” he whispers, gazing at the strange clouding manifestation in the air above the now shattered coffee table. He spots Talwyn peeking out from behind a recliner and Cronk and Zephyr peering over from the other couch, both visibly trembling.

Ratchet waits for the threat to make itself known, gripping harder on his wrench when the air fizzles and glistens with sparkling energy rippling from the phenomenon. He feels Clank unhooking himself and hopping on his shoulder to see what’s going on.

“Hmm, how peculiar.”

“Any idea what it is?”

“The strange energy is not like anything I have come across. It is utterly alien to me.”

Alien? He’d joke that everyone in the room is an alien in some way or form but the humor dies when the thing pulses again, scattering more energy across the room and upturning the furniture. He rolls to the side and bares his teeth, glaring at the cloud. Portal? It looks like that portal Tachyon summoned, but the composition is much cloudier and rough in shape in nature. The strange scents it gives off burns his nose, and none of them are familiar. He blinks and suddenly three small creatures manifest before his eyes with pulsing light emanating from their bodies.

And their presence is… unsettling. Unnerving, even. Enough that it’s causing his fur to stand on end and goose bumps to form on his arms. It’s comparable to standing next to an electro-fusion chamber hyped up on caffeine, rippling through his muscles like tiny pinpricks and causing him to shudder. His ears plaster back and he growls.

What in the Qwark are these things?

Clank emerges from hiding and stands at his side, ready to face whatever new threat managed to find them, optics glowing bright with downturned lids, adopting a fighting stance, fists level with his jaw.

Talwyn peeks from cover, her eyes full of wary alarm as she stares at the infantile creatures with a slack jaw. Behind her, Zephyr is trying to tug her back down to avoid catching unwanted attention while Cronk noticeably trembles. Ratchet stares at her and subtly juts his chin to the side, signaling her to move around. She nods back and silently coaxes the others to follow her lead.

The creatures blink out of their line of sight before reappearing in a blast of light around them, startling Ratchet into stumbling backward and reflexively swing his wrench at one of them, only for the creature to flit away like an insect and repel him with tremendous force, sending him to the floor with a gasp.

“Ratchet!” Clank calls out, distress in his voice even as the creatures surround him, closing in and waving their fingers.

“We had to make certain you had survived… now it is time to return.”

Ratchet pauses and his brows furrow. “Clank, are these the… Zoni you’ve been telling me about?”

Clank stops staring at them, blinking even as one creature gets too close, reaching out to touch his friend.

He doesn’t trust whatever these creatures are or what their motives are, where they lie, and what it has to do with Clank. Ratchet narrows his eyes and marches up with tense muscles, tail swishing about in agitation, feeling the urge to swat those things away from Clank before they cause harm. Something is telling him the creatures are dangerous and despite his next reckless move he isn’t losing anybody this soon after Tachyon.

He gets to Clank’s side and studies them further, reaching out to poke a Zoni when a massive output of energy erupts in a cloud of matter and electricity, catching the Lombax and blasting him away with near concussive force. Ratchet cries out, tumbling to the floor with singed fur and his joints aching from whatever attack the Zoni executed. He looks up and feels his heart nearly stop.

“Hey! Let him go!”

Clank floats above the floor in the shifting cloudy matter being drawn back in the portal, the Zoni speaking in low, droning tones that rings in his ears, drawling, mocking words meant to reassure and soothe but are stale imitations with malicious intent.

“It is time, sire, to learn what you are and what you will become. Your future awaits.”

What Clank is? What he’ll become? His mind blanks out when Clank starts to look… sleepy, all of a sudden and alarms ring in the back of his mind.

Clank never looked like that before and for him to act like this despite being fully charged mere hours ago is a red flag.

“You let go of my friend right now,” Ratchet growls, eyes flashing in anger as Clank suddenly starts acting even stranger, his head swiveling around as they draw closer, flashing brighter than stars as they reach to touch Clank. “I said let him go!”

Ratchet leaps at them, hands reaching out for Clank. He hits a barrier of sorts and his body lights up in pain as electricity swarms his senses. He’s then pushed away even harder, colliding with the floor with such force that the impact makes him lose his hold on his wrench and he leaves a sizable dent in the metal, crying out when searing pain ripples from his wrist and up to his shoulder, nerves sparking with each bounce. He skids to a stop and hastily gets up to his hands and knees, looking up at the Zoni and Clank.

He hears Talwyn calling out to him in a panic and he growls, baring his fangs at the Zoni as they float higher, mere centicubits away from entering the portal and the sight makes his blood boil.

“I’m not letting you take him!”

Gritting his teeth, Ratchet runs, limping, growling against the sharp stabs of pain and gradually speeds up, ignoring the feeling of needles running up his side and he increases his pace to a sprint. He picks up his wrench and hops on the couch with a strong leap, a snarl echoing in the lounge. He has to make it, and needs to get Clank back before these things take him away to some unknown location with no leads in which to travel to. His fingers catch on the invisible force and the Lombax latches on with clenched fingers and digging claws. The strange force tries to knock him back, exploding in a cloud of searing shocks that burrow into his bones as he claws at the Zoni keeping him from Clank.

“Clank! You have to fight them off, they’re trying to kidnap you!”

“Sire needs to come home. That is where you belong,” a Zoni drones out, never once turning to address Ratchet as he pushes against the barrier.

The smell of burning fur causes the others to grimace, worry in their eyes as Ratchet willingly mutilates himself in a desperate bid to take his friend back.

The robot looks so out of it he isn’t even aware that these Zoni creatures are trying to take him away and the thought of losing Clank has fear coursing through his veins. He refuses to let them. Not his partner.

The barrier flares and he's pushed back, but Ratchet collects himself and takes a running leap, bringing up his wrench with a snarl.

“I told you to let him go and I said _let go_!”

The wrench comes down with brutal force and strikes the barrier, igniting an explosive outpour of energy and nebulous clouds that the whole room grains and rumbles, the floor’s steel plating cracking and bulging, screws and bolts flying in every direction as the glass ceiling groans and cracks, holo-interface consoles fizzling and glitching. The Zoni break away from their mindless droning and their eyes widen when their portal begins to destabilize. Ratchet feels satisfaction until one starts to whisper in detached horror.

“The path is collapsing. Sire needs to come home.” Their eyes lock onto Ratchet, his own eyes wide when his fall slows to a crawl, energy expanding to the size of a standard-sized fighter-class ship.

Talwyn and the war bots fling themselves out of hiding, their faces contorting in alarm and fear as Ratchet is suspended in the air, his fur rippling with the colorful weaving tendrils that give off a dull glow.

“Ratchet! Clank! Hold on—”

“The interloper must be eliminated. Sire is not to be kept waiting.”

Ratchet growls and forces his arms to cooperate even as the Zoni encase their stubby hands with glittering energy, the promise of executing their mission glinting in their otherwise blank eyes. He wrestles against the invisible restraints in order to move his arms, but he has to do it fast. The Zoni will no doubt do much worse if he lets them.

“Sire needs—”

“Clank is _not_ your Sire," Ratchet snarls, uncaring if the Zoni recoils from the ferocity of his words. "And he doesn’t need anything from you! He's my best friend and like hell I’m sitting back and letting you get away with him!” Ratchet screams as he brings down his wrench and strikes both the Zoni and the unstable portal.

For a split second, Ratchet feels time stop, space contorting and expanding. Then everything rushes into focus at an accelerated pace as a white flash blinds the room in a shower of nebulous energy and glinting colors, flooding the area with a sea of stars and gases warping the air, twisting and ripping before smoothing over and restarting again.

Clank’s eyes regain their glowing awareness and he sits up, flinching when he sees the chaotic forces building in the Station’s lounge, Ratchet facing off against inter dimensional beings capable of bending time and space. 

What had happened while he was incoherent can only be explained by a logical guess.

If nothing fixes the damage then lives are at risk.

Ratchet stares ahead as he fights to stay upright against the onslaught of energy, hunching lower and leaning forward as wind whips through his fur, feeling his limbs shake and lose feeling. The lights cause his eyes to burn, his nose stinging from the harsh scents, his ears ringing from the unbearable noise space and time produce, and his body wants to simultaneously collapse into carbon and expand into supercharged atoms. He screams when the skin on his hands starts burning, the feeling traveling through his fingertips and gradually crawling up to his shoulders, glowing a sickly milky white, red marking where electricity carves into flesh.

“W-What!?”

“The portal is collapsing—” the Zoni panic.

Ratchet screams as another explosion tears through the room and suddenly gravity is no more, the temperature dropping to an unbearable frigidity that steals every bit of warmth his body produces, and the air feels tight and oppressive. It's enough that he feels his airways closing and his eyes burning even more.

He grips his wrench tighter, hoping it'll end and he can send the Zoni back to where they come from, never to take anyone he cares about to oblivion. He shakily turns to Clank as the portal glows bright, a near off-white like a newborn star being born, blinding the others except for Clank who watches the events with fearful optics.

Clank reaches out, the other hand clamping down on the couch as he fights against the tunnel of collapsing gravity.

“Ratchet? You are…” Clank trails.

Ratchet forces out a breath and reaches out with his own shaky fingers, nearly absent of fur and glowing more intensely than before.

“C-Clank?” Ratchet asks hesitantly, a weakness to his voice as green eyes strain against the glow. “We're pals, right?”

Clank frowns. “Yes, of course…”

Ratchet gives him a weak smirk and the room explodes with blinding colors of burning amber and twinkling purples, a shockwave rippling throughout the Station and into space. The Lombax coughs and falls unconscious, no longer fighting the increasing pull that swallows him whole.

The portal crackles and it turns a poisonous green before exploding in a shower of embers, the room settling down as gravity returns to the station.

Clank stands silently staring in the air, an arm stretched out and stardust coating his body. The room is a mess of upturned furniture, burn marks, and dust coating everything. Talwyn emerges from her spot behind a couch with wide eyes, a fear in them no one acknowledges as she sprints to the small bot’s side. 

She collapses to her knees and hugs Clank, the boy neither moving or reacting to her presence. Zephyr and Cronk linger in the back near the couch and look to each other, heads tilting downward. Both of them shuffle about in morose silence, mourning looming over them both..

“Clank? Is he…”

“I-I…” Clank weakly responds, but his eyes stare ahead, unseeing as his body rattles. Talwyn sucks in a breath and tightens her hold around him, tears dropping on his chassis and splattering on the floor.

“He is gone… Ratchet is… _gone_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it great? Was it cringy as hell? Lemme know!
> 
> I hope to see you all on the next installment!


End file.
